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Shofi Ahmed Jan 2020
(0)
Fly perfectly straight and high, and show the fly
out of the fly-bottle on your way.
Rise to victory, far above the blue sky,
and reap the reward: the opening of paradise!

The road ahead is clear and open this way,
with things small and big growing and disappearing up this way.
You will see sunrises and sunsets waxing and waning,
with mention of the moon and stars in the dark.
Be mindful as you sway, it's got to be laser-sharp.
There is no hard shoulder on this highway,
miss it by an inch and risk losing everything forever!

There is hope, there is light up high
pick up your paintbrush, just like the sun does
goodness knows how it sneaks in, right in the black
canvas of the night, painting the first light
lo, it shows up in heaven, the candle of the daylight.

As long as there is a man and a woman,
never give up, our canary bird can fly
rosy or not, the nest in every morn nets a sunrise!

(1)
A woman indeed plucks up the courage
she never had to look up to the stars
be it for the guide or the light in the night.
Fathima herself was the full Moon every night
is thanks to her Godsent innate light.

With it, she can bask in the full spread of the pi
on top of its short decimals mounting high
constantly as if countless stars in the sky.

The time and space under the sun
and that under Fathima's light
are far apart from each other
yet they coexist side by side.

As she points out,
"A circle is masculine
while pi is feminine."

Pi forms the circle with fine prints,
decimal dots continue to spring,
sprawling trillions of new digits,
the bandwagon is still increasing.
Connecting the dots is an untouched dream.

The full moon pi picture is veiled,
unseen at large, yet in short, 3.145 it can live!

(2)
Fathima flies her lock of hair
in the lurking air of the transcended pi
the primitive feminine does that,
no wonder she is God's secret feminine opus!
An immeasurable black hole lies in between
the short and transcended pi, running like a river,
dancing anew on every riverbank
in the many curls of Fathima's jet black hair.

She lent out a hair to the planet earth
and crossed over like a silhouette
without spilling out the colour
of the transcended end of the pi.
The earth takes it in the core in her heart
as if it would keepsake it forever.

Weaving the pi in Fathima embeds two hairs ties one
perfect circle at the back and one at the front of the universe.
Inside each hair the earth is finest fluid in the core
none is as deep as high as proportionate a perfect flow.
No time is as revealing no music is as sweet in this orb
no force is as mighty nor as prevailing a true giant
causing gravity and the heat at the earth's core.
Matter and spirit mix free in the play both wax lyrical
thanks to the pure resonance of 'Qun Be' the word of God!

(3)
The way to the earth's core is exposed to none other
save the Angel of Death the lucky one.

See both sides of the one lofty sky swathed in countless stars  
but the day and night render through still remains an unseen one  
Terra is shalet zeroed in Fathima is heaven on earth!  
Up in the sky-high bank turning the starry bowl upside down
Fathima took no star nor a pearl diving deep down the Arab water,
the brightest luminary came after Muhammad (PBUH),
in veil from the Night of Measures and into the flipside in the night
she's gone without lifting the veil but left her penetrating mark.

Few could find the shortcut contemplating on a blank canvas
the Moon looks down into the abyss down the sea eyes on far
for a mirror in the bottom on the as above so below matter
since Godsent Fathima touched on the all-inclusive primitive water.
The sun gets caught up in the very water dew she raised in the sky
the ancient fold of time still unfurls with the sun-kissed flowers
for the new hands yet the fingerprint on the sun remains only her!

Azrael heads to Fathima around the year 632 after death
touches down in Medina on his usual thin earth he steps.  
But this time a little mundane dust couldn't be thicker
he keeps descending deep down to the earth's centre
following from Medina but the angel locates her
inside the perfect circle a closed geometric figure.

(4)
Fathima is the female headline her secret is not all known
when she used to visit the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
he would stand up for her hold her hand and kiss it
and seat her on his seat, she would do the same to the prophet
when he would visit her like they did know each other
in and outside the spheres of heaven and earth!

She is the embodiment of the infinite feminine variations
the first spiritual woman created following God's word Qun.
Her is the mother tongue of the ever diversified feminine lingua
no one woman on her own can rhyme with her alone
she has no peer her rhetoric is unique like none other.
The galactic run from planet to planet up on the starry ladder
climbing high up the mountain heaven yet streams out like oval
off their rock bottom stone until that unleashes the final run
in perfect circle delving into the rhythm of the loop at the centre
made of Fathima's hair charged by 'Qun' God's uncreated word.  

Prophet David can sing on the bank of the river
and can see the fish are jumping to him out of the water.
The masculine is open form, eye on everywhere,
but not her the woman is in juxtaposition her
all-inclusive schema supplanting the details rest only on her.
She is the unseen world within the world at best imagine her!
Guess, through this inwardly open door who might disappear?
It's nature before the scientist on ultimate discovery of the matter!  

Aligning with her down the rainbow up high the land absorbs
the grooming sky looking on the running rivers within her.
Her words spread through like the smart cloud that flies far
over the lands and valleys but not even the wind none other
gets a sniff of the potion and melody it caries until that rain down
without a hurdle without a visual she moves on at the target
such a soul needs no after death lift from the angel of death.

Before Azrael Fathima loses an arc of the circle then and there
so not the earth but giant Azrael can take the pressure!
Marked by a fluid discharge since then she is cooling this fire
In Shaa Allah God willing when she ajars it, it will be elixir!  

(5)
Draw a straight line, but it won't be perfect
it keeps bending, fly straight touching the sky
the flight path won't look like a straight line
it would be like the crest of a crescent moon
like curve touched the sky, like climbing up
atop the pyramid is not going high straight on
it goes up from the widespread seked slopes.

Moves in golden ration 1.618 not the full two
and gets the designing formula flawlessly full
micro to macro all levels all the way to the true north!    

Fathima being the original feminine eyeing at her
she can tap in the knowhow of naturally feminine nature.
And discovers the immanent pattern - the world
is pre-designed and measured is never a coincidence.
The creatures' creativity, scientist's science
is to follow, discover working formulas like phi and pi.

Play along it works until an unknown hour strikes
comes with accurate knowledge dead on time
numerically correct never miss taking a life away
as if it was calculated beforehand before the birth.
A newborn is born for a limited time
already set but no one knows when it goes up  
is a deadlock clock but it isn't so shrouded
in the blueprint of the creatures' grand design
there the clock ticks safe and sounds it never dies!  

(6)
Fathima hailing from the other side of the pool
eyes on the ever live pre-design side of the creation!
Then its corporeal face was only a water drop,
the primitive one looks see-through it has dead zero
knowledge of its lively other side of the pool.
She comes closer and perfectly mirrors both sides
that shines through on her reflected face on the water.
An absolute new image that livens up the dead part
Bang - Big Bang! The corporeal world gets the spark
explodes out from the very first drop of the water!

Fathima's appearance was miraculously instrumental
God reveals nature the finite and infinite, 0 and 1,
future in the present and the death and life in play!
Nature follows suit it just saw the perfect role model
banged out but only to its corporeal set
it aspires to be with its infinite reality yet!

Fathima leaves the door open constructing a perfect circle,
hardly straight, took the mixed bag of countless variations
she zooms into the abyss irrational portion of the first matter,
the primitive water drop and aces the circle with her hair
that nothing can equate throughout the corporeal world.
Done the math discovering the zero starting point at the bottom.
The ocean of digit numbers, the DNA of all things material
banged out of it, still, the zero is numberless irrational!

(7)
All things, within oneself and in a set constantly vibrate,
strive to align with the enduring reality of itself.
The atom vibrates to reach out to its immortal portion
that doesn't die and is in the know of its lower base.
The planets are in a defined circular orbit, accurately measured
just the apex on top of their dynamic pyramid the pyramidon
is tucked away; they too have an irrational portion in the circle.

With the finest spin, they zoom in the spacious universe,
in part and like the sun outside the constellations round they go
never miss a target line yet to re-discover Fathima's perfect circle
the origin of their digital essences' breakthrough
the door to their transcended destination de jour.
Lo the matter turns the last stone pulsing across the cosmos
the mortal horizontal spread, the spirit returns home.

The earth has a line in its swansong it has a place in paradise
it's not here to stay for good neither to perish forever!

Matters form and break without losing the rope,
it's not to paint the shades of the eternal blue
but to ace an irrational portion in the circle
at the heart of the earth, as above, so below.  
The deep the high the perfect circle
up and down the centre of gravitation for all!

At even and at odd the vibration within the matter is fluid
somewhere is parched there the arch matter must make a splash.
Far away on that dark beach, the full-fledged sea of the matters
outpours its billowy potion with the Moon on the frontline
from deep within the physical world's most glowed up firefly!

(8)
The seven seas swell up smoothly into the moonlight-dip
oh, the waterless Moon at the core is still fasting.
Led by time the sweet swan punting along the waves
streams down the watery inner circle of the planets.
Until stuck in the Moon no water in the last waterfront
but paradise is on the other side of the pool!  

The sun dips away into the night
while the eve baths in the shades of pink and gold,
the dazzling hues soon turn to taupe.
Drawing down painting the picture in full colour
only to find the time is up on the halfway,
yet to print a colour copy of the night!
The other unseen half is passed down to the Moon
tiptoeing in slow motion in the depths of the night
barely keeping the head afloat in a fathomless ocean
of shades of black hails from where knows no one.  

The sun enkindles the moon half-lit keeping itself away
amid shadows as if comparing the shades now it knows
a Mehrem a veiled female is ahead not to look on or
compared to that the sun has no light or true are both.

Wrapped in the eternal night beneath its black mole
once the moon on the front approaching most close
directly down to the centre of the earth eyes on
over that inlaid string hairy black perfect circle
never did it turn back the same gaze is still on
orbiting around the earth in synchronous rotation.

(9)
The never-ending night is becoming a night indeed
it's coming to an end so soon in our time.
In Shaa Allah I will see it with my eyes before I die
in the Night of Measures in an odd night in Ramadan
Fathima from the transcendental end of irrational heart
will turn on top of the curve opening for the first time
a 9-degree angle in the circle at the centre of the earth.

Instantly the leading force, time will get the first sniff
of the other world, so peaceful heart-melting serene.
Rapturous time feeling an ounce of the enduring peace
for the first time cutting all the corners with ease
will be propelled into its yet uncharted golden mean.
Scurrying to the peaceful abode time will be on its wings
across the globe, people will be stunned seeing
how first the times pass from then on incredibly quick!

Fathima, the first spiritual woman on duty, will start
pulling her hair back off the circle at the centre
Juxtaposed in between the worlds of here and hereafter.
She will take back every inch of it, the heavenly bodies
will feel the pinch of her every little subtle pull
that too is a boon helping them perfect their circle.

(10)
Soon she opens it just 9-degree wide at first
the Moon will see a glimpse of the first drop of water.
Without it, it's living perched without the water of life
that's destined to rain down soon and the Moon
back into its original pond shall revive!
Mapping the pi's whole infinitesimals playground
finally, Fathima will turn the circle upside down
on the dot the stunned sun shall rise in the western sky!

By now under Fathima's hair's shaded closed circle
it must have sailed far over the blue sky in the other world.
Billowing with the breeze over the sea of uncharted water
and stacking to the brim with all that it could discover
humbly stood like a cloud in that corner of the sky.

The time is finally ticking fast to rain down with love
paradise's welcoming schema rendering in waterpaint drops
on the Moon over the sea of matters, that's most glowed up firefly
ah, finally can break the fast sipping in a drop of elixir!
It's their heavenly adopted, Miʿrāj performed, primitive water.
The Moon with the seven seas will leave off the corporeal shell
gliding gracefully with this stately water nymph as if it never dies
and will make a splash plopping into the pond of paradise!  

For the matter ultimately is water and its extent is sound
Fathima will fetch it the water of life and take it to the next life!
Oh, the matter shall do both die and revive with Israfil's sound
the cloud will fly out of the dead water on the ground,
like the earth with chorus songs of the rain revives.
When that a melodious nymph in the water makes waves
see paradise is here the Moon over the sea can't take off its eyes.

(11)
Hang on though they all set ready on their horizontal span  
to pull in such a fluid yet colourful descending like a rainbow swan.
First chaste Fathima will evaporate her hair's perfume away
that's yet lingering in the water warming it up to its premium
no crowd then can see where this heady, fragrant cloud will fly!
There are the momentum and delights where that will alight.

Israfil might then blow his trumpet swooning the world away
the secret will remain a secret exception is said in the Qur'an.
A strange sound will silence the chorus of the innate digits
collapsing the floating cosmos bubbling on their music.  
The corporeal circle will collapse as if there is no base no pi
the melody of the first word Qun means Be will still be loud
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious so how can we all expire?

Israfil too will play his reviving trumpet pure mellifluous
and In Shaa Allah numerically perfect Fathima will rise
amidst the resonant Qun as like she did in the beginning
when except prophet Muhammad (PBUH) there was nothing!
Now the earth once zeroed in beneath her hair will follow her
the stunned terra will discover Fathima took her hair away
only to shift the constellation up onto the upper world!

The old songs of the planets the chorus of the digits will revive
from the zero bases in the core the digital panache that dance
planet upon the planet as if they are always at the perfect hertz.

Indeed that is yet to come, the arts of the fine layers
opening from the irrational pi, the finest one is to flower
when Fathima will unloop her circled hair at the centre
piercing the very immanent irrational cut
that no creation can fathom only the loving creator Allah
will turn odd to even in between the here and hereafter
then the ocean stuck in deep salt shall turn to enduring potion!
The As-Sirat shall turn to be the bridge to paradise
the body shall revive with the enduring soul forever
and with ah Fathima couple shall enter paradise In Shaa Allah
with the rhapsody 'all praise is for Allah' Alhamdulillah!
inggo May 2016
we don't talk
is this a deadlock?
i'm stuck
can we just take a walk?
near the shore i set up a hammock
where we can ignore the ticking clock
Amanda Small Jan 2012
I was a false prophet in an unknown land.

Things used to be better,
With my hand in your hand
I fell asleep on the typewriter and wrote this poem while I dreamed

Sprites dancing across my eyelids,
We made a game of nervous glances.

Touching fingertips like bits of flint,
We ignited fire in our voice boxes.

Screaming the sonnets of dead poets, we pronounced our love like rotting words.

Cracked, marble lovers.

Tumbling together
breaking piece by piece

We drank gasoline and swallowed three lit matches

You started a scene when you kissed my dream

With your eyes glowing silver* and your eyelashes curved skyward
you talk of UFOs and astronauts

Complex and ever-changing,
I search your lips every night, looking for a sunset.

You catch stars in the corners of your smile, you are my favorite constellation.
Italicized parts were written by Jacob (http://hellopoetry.com/-jacob-lange/)
Normal font is me.

It was fun, Jacob.
Dark Ink May 2016
You tore her apart for your own joy,

Her soul lies vacant and fragile,

Yet she faces the axe for getting *****,

As no case ,can be filed.


You still roam around and live your life,

While she carries a perennial pain,

Who gave you the right to commit such a heinous crime,

And leave her miserably insane."


Unfortunately the past cannot be altered
but we can certainly look for a brighter future.


"I hope one day,  there will be no stare,

I hope one day ,no one will care,


Whether the fabric ,is short or long,

Visible garments ...
Whether a mini skirt ,or a cloak,

Clothes aren't right or wrong,

It's your mind ,facing a deadlock.


I hope one day , no news of ****

I hope one day,no obscene tape

Is it so hard to achieve

A world  free of harassment and eve- tease?"
When you hear the word "****," what do you think of ?? Let me know .. Do comment Down below:)
mark john junor Oct 2013
i could not hold on anymore
to the desperate plea of the futile ones
who live off another wallet
so i set out that night for the south
to find the great parking lots
where i might find a space and place to rest my weary head
where i might find a place to be safely reckless
with her potions and instruments
but the violin she played spun a queer note
and i knew that if i did not go on with
whatever she wanted she would be the end of me
the  end of poor poor me
gather my slim riches in my carpetbaggers coat
and picked up the threadbare bag
that had all the steam-pipes and tools
for making a new titanic
lets sink it right this time
we ended up just east of Pensacola
in a fairytale land of flea markets
trying to barter our yesterdays
for a bowl of thin soup today
gather my threadbare deadlock hippie chick companion
and counseled her against talking too loud
against the tourqouse monsters
and she told me i was just nervouse
and stripped away the rationalizations
to show that the fat man is only selling tickets
to the free show
so i follow her
having made up my mind that she sees the reality
of this sandy soil wasteland
we ended up leaving Pensacola
and with a quick prayer
we were on the the boat to the Bahama
with our lives intact
maybe next time we will escape
maybe next time you will come back with another woman stead of me
and i said that's a possibility
that wouldn't make either of us happy but
that's the way it should be sometimes
life doesn't always make sense
well most of the time it dont
If I could buy just one more day..I'd pay the Earth.
To open up my eyes again and feel the loving pain of life and stretch my arms up to the sky..

..But here I lie..Alone in death..
No Angels came to give me breath to breathe in paradise...and let me tell you..
..it aint nice.

So..

If I could buy just one more day I wouldn't waste my words to say."what time is it"..****..I wouldn't care.
I'd nurse each second like a baby in my arms and handle gently every minute..as if a cry would spoil the spell and send me screaming back to Hell and if I heard the clock at all that echoes loudly, I would fall again into despair..
..Something I care not to do.

But what I have is what I've got..a six foot plot..and lost somewhere along the way was any hope of buying one more day.

So I will lay.Wishing I could gaze once more upon the sky.
Wishing I could buy..
..Another day.
Diána Bósa Jun 2018
Once I was a preserver
a wayfarer
a maker
but later
you turned me into a useless stargazer
by losing the will of being your tracer
I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver

I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
I am pure subjectivity
I am objectivity contained by a brain
I am an entity
Inside a body
I control my limbs
And my organs control me
The apparatus for my entity

I am a being that seeks understanding
While remembering who I stand under
Those who sneakily seek to plunder
The developing enigmatic wonder
In my mind's torturous tundra

My mind uses my body as a slave
But is also a slave to the shame
Of my body's interactions
Within marginalized factions
There is a fight between the two
Like the fights between me and you
My body won't quit when my mind is through
And my mind stays conscious while my body is blue
So I'm stuck in a deadlock
With a mentality of bedrock

Once I cease to be human
I can be the perfect judge
When my emotions won't budge
I'll see things the way most organisms do
Inside this zoo
Animals have the flu
And give it to each other
When we communicate through pain
The flu actually seems tame
Compared to your game
Of taking humanity
And leaving an entity
After you entered me
My somber soul left
Because of personality theft

My mind moves my arms
To block the pain
My mind moves my feet
To do the same
Yet I lost these advantages
When I had to walk too far
My life only got more hard
After experiencing your entropy
I became a disembodied entity
Can be found in my self published poetry book “Icy”.
https://www.amazon.com/Icy-Andrew-Rueter-ebook/dp/B07VDLZT9Y/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=Icy+Andrew+Rueter&qid=1572980151&sr=8-1
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Difficult to say it is a crisis of faith

Deadlock stubbornly cracked

Divide intensified with fact so backed

****** is truth, lost memory's wraith

"Who's to blame?" as so often "they" saith


Forget this daft idyllic hope, loyalty

To nothing has my life compared

And as most humans, no heartache spared

No limits to its reverence and constancy

As God shapeshifted, any form but royalty


Kings of Kings, my Makers, Lords on High

Omnipotent theories to query

Over verses I've traveled, all but Kashmiri

Reasonably these to view before bye-bye

Off I am to Pir Panjal, where I shall quake and die
Written after earthquake in Nepal, which had brought sad memories of my time in South Asia.
Anderson Ritchie Jan 2012
O’er the hill the rampant stampede
and the sound of thundering hooves,
as the mighty men of steel and armour,
hasten their steeds with all passion and eagerness,
to have at the fray in which their fellows are in
deadlock with the enemy.

Following the noble banner as it
twists and bends under the speed
of the horsemen’s noble steeds.
as edging ever nearer to the battlefield.

Then, with a shout of ardent Patriotism,
and the silent but deadly ring of cold steel,
the beating hooves trample,
as the swift sleek movements of the sword
befell the helpless enemy troopers and drones,
sent like sheep into a slaughterhouse,
and hence few shall return unscathed,
for these generals havent the decency for  
diplomacy and discussion,
only to make ****** war.

And should they have cause to panic or fear,
they shall hastily mutter such words as these,
“Send in the cavalry!”,
and with little argument, we shall go,
over the hill in a stampede of
death and glory,
like the Valkyries,
we shall ride,
and hasten the deaths of they,
my generals enemies.

I am their last resort,
I am the cavalry.
Maggie Emmett Nov 2014
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Empty, paralysed and in shock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Plane-bombed towers stretch and implode
Bone dust smothers a city block
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Suicide bombs start to explode
None live to stand in courtroom dock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Buses are blown up in the road
Red heart of a city they mock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode

Another gruesome episode
We’re held in a violent deadlock
Our sense of hope starts to erode

Where is the truth that we are owed?
Death’s time is set on Terror’s clock
Fear makes our rational minds corrode
Our sense of hope starts to erode
Villanelle form. Written first 24th October 2005 & edited several times since.
Brumbies night live

ACT v lions


Hi dudes and welcome to gio stadium
Where the mighty brumbies will be trying to win after some terrible performances they have had and mate it is going to be a great match
No matter who wins and the brumbies who are number 4 in the Australiasian conference and we have to hope that they have the power to best the lions this evening on brumbies night live
With the last win from the brumbies being on March 15, and they are bound to win tonight and mate it should be cool, our first entertainer is George from red hill
Take it away George

Coming out tonight
With a lot of power
The mighty mighty brumbies
The team of the hour
They will beat the odds
Never giving up
Come on brumbies
You must win yes please be the best
Brumbies team brumbies team
They must fight hard tonight
Knock the lions completely out
And pile on the tries
Brumbies team brumbies team
Will we win tonight
Come on brumbies players
Please put on a fight right

Thank you George and tonight brumbies night live will be great
If brumbies win and not lose and now here is Peter from cook



Go brumbies we will fight them
Go brumbies we will never lose
Never, brumbies will win tonight
Go brumbies this is footy
The big game they play in heaven yeah
Brumbies we must win tonight
Go brumbies beat the lions
On our home we need to win
Yeah mate we must win oh yeah
With our players playing average
In other games
Our last win was March 15
Come on brumbies we must win
Come on brumbies we will win
If we put our mind to it
Get our mindset right yeah
Come on brumbies
We must beat the lions
Yeah we will win if we play well enough yeah we will win hope-ful-ly
Yes we are the team of the week
If we win tonight
Go brumbies we must win yeah
Go brumbies we will beat South Africa
Yeah dude we will be triumphant yeah
Go brumbies

Thank you Peter and lets hope brumbies win tonight and if our mindset as you put it is right we will win and win well

And now here is John from Casey



Come on the brumbies
We need to be triumphant
We need to show South Africa
Who is boss
Come on the brumbies
Hopefully we won’t lose this
Cause if we do our adrenaline
Will be pushed right down oh yeah
Come on the brumbies
The lions will be waiting
But we must win
Never ever give in
Because it must be our turn
Dance goes the cheer girls
And cheering goes brumby jack
As the brumbies are superb
Yes we will win oh yeah
And the team to win tonight
Will be the mighty brumbies

Thank you John and I hope the brumbies are listening because mate
They are due for a win and if they are good enough they will win battle and conquer and now here is rick from kaleen with a brumby rap



Yo hey brumby team
The best team at the GIO yeah
We will fight we will say
That we will beat the lions hands down
Come on hey brumbies team
Everyone will cheer you as you take the field
With the crowd going brumbies Clap clap clap brumbies clap clap clap
Brumbies clap clap clap right from start to finish
You see brumbies we beat the tahs
At their own game yeah we are cool
We haven’t won since then
But the lions tonight will be our feast
We will trample all over them
And say brumbies clap clap clap
Brumbies clap clap clap
Right till the very end
Go brumbies yo from start to finish
Duuuuuuuuddddddeeeeee!!!!!

Thank you rick and that was a cool rap beat for the mighty brumby team
And I hope they win against the lions tonight and now here is harriett from
Deakin


Brumbies team show the crowd a good time
Brumbies team show us how you win
Pile on the the tries
Make sure you never look like losing
Never lose go the brumbies team
Brumbies team fight till the final
Siren mate show us your style
Come on brumbies we must win this evening come on mate we must win oh yeah
You see the brumbies and lions meet this evening who will win
Who will ****** win
Everyone cheers for the brumbies this evening at 9-30 we will know the result
Brumbies team we will win this evening
Brumbies team we will win this game
We must fight we will conquer to be the best overall you see we are the best

Thank you harriett and that was a great song about the brumbies hopefully winning well let’s hope the beat the lions and very soon we will be watching the kickoff between the brumbies and the lions
Go brumbies

And welcome back and we are about to start this brumbies night live match
Against the lions from South Africa
Go brumbies go brumbies win this match
Come on brumbies we need to win this yeah we do and we will
Well, I hope anyway go brumbies

Welcome to half time and the mighty brumbies are leading at the half time break by 19 points to 8 and this is a crackerjack game of rugby mate and now for our half time entertainment and first of all is Gordon from Macgregor

Yes mate we were down and
I felt bad when the lions started well
And scored the first try
But the conversion was missed
And the brumbies got in
And with their successful conversion
We lead 7-5 but the lions were given
A penalty to the lions mate made the lions retake the lead but
We stuck at our guns at 8-7 down
And we pushed ourselves to the limit
Then we scored a great try
And again we converted it 14-8 was the score the lions tried to put pressure on us but we stuck at our guns and scored a unconverted try
It was 19 points to 8 at half time
And what do you reckon brumbies fans are we going to give up I say
No fear
Thank you for the summary Gordon
And now here is olly from Fraser
Go the brumbies win win win
Go the brumbies win every time
When we play so late at night
We have to see whether we can put up a fight
Go the brumbies win oh win
Go the brumbies make sure
You don’t give up this lead
Thank you olly and now it is time to
Start the second half
Go brumbies
Kick some ***
Go brumbies
Show some class
Come on brumbies win against the lions

Welcome back and it is full time at gio stadium and the brumbies beat the lions by 31 points to 20 after a very good second half of 12 - all the deadlock couldn’t be broken and here is Patrick from wanniassa

Here comes the brumbies
Here comes the brumbies
The ACT brumbies
Beating the lions 31 points to 20
What a picnic
Here comes the brumbies
Here comes the brumbies
The ACT brumbies
It was a very good win indeed mate
Those mighty brumbies won and the crowd is happy
Like a real smart happy Chappy
Here comes the brumbies
Here comes the brumbies
The ACT brumbies
We provided the best entertainment
You have a ever seen
Yes we had a picnic
Go the brumbies
Go the brumbies
We are the champions
Of the territory of the ACT
Especially tonight yeah
Go the mighty brumbies
Go the mighty brumbies
We will provide some of the best
Performances of the super rugby
Oh yeah what a picnic
Go brumbies you are the best

Thank you Patrick and now we cross to the brumbies cheer squad
Brad and Thomas and Daniel to cheer like they have never cheered before

Hi everyone at the brumbies game
I hope you enjoyed us win 31-20 mate
We put the pressure on the lions
Keeping above them anyway we want
They scored the first try converted it to trail by 4 but we piled on tries and
Won by 11 and the second half was 12 all dude, what a match this turned out to be and the lions tried and tried and tried but we were better tonight oh yeah, thank god I nearly died
As the crowd yelled so loud
The brumbies supporters stood up
Nice and proud and we had a good mindset tonight better than the lions
But the lions still played well
But we were better really really cool better mate yeah mate yeah
Go the brumbies on brumbies night live kick ***, go brumbies

Thank you brad and Thomas and Daniel and yes it was a great win by the brumbies and it was a 12-all second half and thank Christ brumbies lead the first half and now here is Pete from Melba

Go the brumbies go the brumbies
We won yeseree
Come on brumbies
Come on brumbies
This night was ours oh yeah
It was an even second half
But the brumbies still was leading
Yes and we cut the lions in two
And their hearts were a bleeding
But lions played well
But not well enough
Go the brumbies go the brumbies
We’re the best in the super rugby
Well on our good day, mate
Go the mighty brumbies
We are the champs of gio
But hopefully we can win more
To show today was no fluke

Thank you Pete and now it is time to go, so here is our final curtain song

As we draw the final curtain
And it is the brumbies on top oh yeah
Time to head out to go to our houses
While the wild ones have their beer
It was a very good match
The lions were displaying pressure yeah but the 12-all second half meant
The brumbies are the best
Oh yeah bow bow
Yes, the brumbies are the best
See you next time we have brumbies night live
Delia Darling Dec 2018
Paddle
Paddle
Paddle
Up and on my feet
Falling, thrill of the initial fall
To catch the ride
Colliding currents crash waves
Into mental deadlock days
Winter swells come at shore break
Building momentum and grind
Like breaks at homesick Pipeline
Ride, curl and slide
Rip
Sweep the sides
Slick
Don’t choke this good vibe
Stay on this wave
I think that I shall never know
Why I am thus, and I am so.
Around me, other girls inspire
In men the rush and roar of fire,
The sweet transparency of glass,
The tenderness of April grass,
The durability of granite;
But me--I don't know how to plan it.
The lads I've met in Cupid's deadlock
Were--shall we say?--born out of wedlock.
They broke my heart, they stilled my song,
And said they had to run along,
Explaining, so to sop my tears,
First came their parents or careers.
But ever does experience
Deny me wisdom, calm, and sense!
Though she's a fool who seeks to capture
The twenty-first fine, careless rapture,
I must go on, till ends my rope,
Who from my birth was cursed with hope.
A heart in half is chaste, archaic;
But mine resembles a mosaic-
The thing's become ridiculous!
Why am I so? Why am I thus?
Demarcation embossed on her skin, puncture point left with a pin
Fishnet stockings for the masses, Wiccan enjoyed in classes.

Personality goes from void to resigned, alternate progression good and primed.
Keen eyed father takes it all to heart, seeing his daughter’s wrist opened with a part.
Packs up and moves them all down to San Tropez
Hoping freedom in peace would take it all away.

Clean cut, concise and thin, award worthy with a stellar grin
An esteemed academic decathlete, salacious in the recesses of his sleep

Pressure mounted at too harsh an angle, fell back on those that dangle
Clean and cut with a proclivity for exposure, an outlet to relinquish his composure.
Packed up and moved down to San Tropez
His father thought it could take it all away

Fed and bred on notions of sin, premature birth, no more spin.
Baggy-eyed and caught in heat, the reasons that led her to cheat.

Husband took it as the answer to a problem, the baby could no longer haunt him.
She fell back into a deadlock stare, her husband thought it was a prolonged glare.
He packed them up and moved down to San Tropez
No amount of travel could take that all away.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Difficult to say it is a crisis of faith
Deadlock stubbornly cracked
Divide intensified with fact so backed
****** is truth, lost memory's wraith
"Who's to blame?" as so often "they" saith

Forget this daft idyllic hope, loyalty
To nothing has my life compared
And as most humans, no heartache spared
No limits to its reverence and constancy
As God shapeshifted, any form but royalty

Kings of Kings, my Makers, Lords on High
Omnipotent theories to query
Over verses I've traveled, all but Kashmiri
Reasonably these to view before bye-bye
Off I am to Pir Panjal, where I shall quake and die
This was written during the time just after the earthquake in Nepal. I was also considering my nephew's fate in Afghanistan and that whole region's conflicts.
Grading curves....
Wrongly ruptured neurological nerves.
Condemned by societal hate,
his fluctuating brain synapses tend to create
vicious, malicious and practitious acts
that gravitate to attack the faith
in every church enlisted in every homestead household.

Retaliation puts him in a chokehold.
A headlock, a leglock, a deadlock of the mind
consciousness revoked, the button is broke
vain attempts to find rewind.

Press Pause.

Bask in his murderous glory,
the bodies of the converted; epitome of gory.
Bloodshed because god is dead claimed Nietzche
He kills all his idols and struggles to think freely.

You see the doctors had his mind locked in a cage,
they built the bars since he was at an illiterate stage.
They taught him how to act, then how to think,
a mindless drone choked cause they revoked the power to speak-
toungue in cheek, they'll chop off your arm just to make sure
nothing's hiding up the sleeve
and questioning authority's their biggest pet peeve.


But enough is enough...I CHOOSE WHAT TO BELIEVE...
Drop my textbook, throw my desk, and through those
guidance doors I leave.
I will ignore all concepts of adherence and maybe, just this once,
be blunt about my fear;

I’m a stuck oriole in a window.
I’m a pedestrian somewhere in VV Soliven underneath the pouring rain
with my parasol jammed, won’t spread out.
The petrichor from the ground rises and like dust,
I settle and cave in, like an unsuspecting dagger making its slow crawl
towards the back of the next face I see in this deadlock.

They say when you stick it to the man,
stick it good, and whatever beating or punishment may follow,
face it like a man.

but what is a man to do to the higher man
when he has his guts spread on the floor like an inkblot
from a shattered glass?
this working classman status isn’t for the weak,
and it sure isn’t for the brave either – what will become of the fools
sitting atop our heads when we have learned to outgrow them?

Sooner than it is later, I will go back to the pit like some soldier
cleaning his Lee-Enfield in the endless snow.
I will be faced by inbreds, imbeciles, rebels,
dilettantes, proletariats who have their necks leashed, their arms
puppeteered and their voices mellowed down by some defunct ventriloquism.
I will crank open the mailbox of my home and see that there
are notices: some from the bank, the loans, and the bills – all of them screaming
pecuniary, all of them bludgeoning soul.

If this is what a man has to deal with when he comes to
learn that life’s no downtown street promenade, then I’m willing
to slit the throat of the next child that’s giddy enough and filled with life
to search meaning through the bleared image in front of him.
I see high-stake rollers and proletariats, bigshots, and darling boys
roll down their car windows and flick the smoke out in the **** freeway

while I am here, watching myself slowly rot in the cubicle mirror next door
wary of my somber entrails. I think of a pub somewhere in Magallanes, and I dream
heavily when I am awake. The beaded body of the Hefeweizen is waiting for me
like a paramour, but I have to clock-punch my way out first before I can reach
some sort of truce: as long as I have myself sign these contracts, as far as my freedom is
concerned, what keeps the ball rolling for me might be something I would
despise as long as I breathe in this disgustingly thick air of deceit and consummation.
There is no life in here. All of us are dead.
Buying things we do not need, doing things we don’t want, fooling ourselves
in the complete process, marry wives and husbands and breed children
who will do the same in this cyclically deadening circus. My god is filled with
cotton and the streets scream ****** ****** against the spring.
There are enough violence in the thoroughfares to cast me back to my
home and coil, fraught with unrelenting demand.

There’s no other way to look at it rather than simplifying the equation.
Some do it for worth, that’s your tonic.
Some do it for fun, that’s your senseless beating.
Some do it because they have no other choice: they are not looking far enough.
As long as you have yourself beaten to slave-bone and driven mad with
downtime, then you have yourself laid down on a silver-platter catching
the swill of such riotous rigor: to be shaken out of sleep and shove
meat down your throat and thank the Gods for a wonderful day when all I see
outside are streets blackened to the teeth with distortion and the automobiles
like limbless children leaving no trace.

Some take the easiest way out, but I am not crazy enough to bring
myself to sanity. I have other caprices to go with.
This is enough a suicide than it is on the other side.
Whenever I look at my superior, I see nothing,
and whenever I gaze at the surrounding scenes I see people
sticking knives at each other when backs are turned.
I see people swallow everything that is given to them without
the slightest inch of askance: to complain is the inability to withstand
the current situation – but I am no fool to close my eyes.
I have still the guts to face everyday like some old friend, death, in my arms,
singing blues from the 1980s. When this is done,
I will go back to where it usually does not hurt: in the silence.

where no faces bid me hello – they do well in their own discomfiture,
and I do not wish to see them any longer.
where no automobiles tear the streets and cleave the moon farewell.
where there are no sparrows outside, where there are no laughing children,
where there are no hollow men and women greeting each other tenderly
and blighting each other safe in the resignation of some dull home.

if I am mad, then what does this make you? better? privileged?
I’ve had other people look deep into me like some deepwell without
water and they tell me, “there’s something about you, something about you.”
and when I turn my back to search for some sameness,
I figure there is nothing else to find but the same trapping fate in this
burning cylinder of a home.

Waking up and filling in shoes and dressing up for nothing,
earning money and throwing it all at our own expense,
buying thrills and wasting away as time lounges like a cat
at the foot of the Victorian. If there’s better enough a fall than this,
I will sign myself to have my bones broken, my ribs opened

to let go of my famished soul while all the others
keep themselves clean, putrefying themselves viscerally.
******* *******.
Emily Galvin Sep 2016
We reach a time in our lives
Shuffling along our own dusty highways
In the warmth of a whisky stained dusk
Watching the honeyed heat of our future seep along the horizon
Into bruised sky of overburdened past
We each meet the same crossroad of decision
The two sides of our soul extending welcoming arms
As we stand, a prize in the feud between mind and heart
Practicality and passion
Security and sensuality

Who am I to choose which gravelled path to follow
Whether to take the wrinkled hand of prudence
And crunch the stones of wisdom and logic with each familiar step
Does my future lay ahead
At that point where the sun kneels to kiss the ground
And throws its glowing arms across the earth in a blanket of safety
Not in passion, but affection
In the comfort of routine
The reliability and purity of what is, and what has always been

Or does it sit within the flicker of a fiery heart
In the sigh of breath that creeps along with the breeze
That trickles down my spine
And dares me to turn my head, to look down roads of impenetrable darkness
To embrace the possibility of the unknown
And the leaping tongues of flame that might lie where those paths end
To be engulfed, and to know myself within that destruction.
Is it the voice that whispers inside my veins
"should there be more than this?"

I stay static
Leaderless
A spectator to the conflict of the soul
Stuck fast in a deadlock of inertia and indecision
Awaiting that moment
When the last glimmer of sun has bled through the cracked earth
And I open my blurred eyes to icy silence, shapeless and pure in its clarity
To see, without obstruction
That the decision is clear.
My future transparent.
That there was only ever one road I could take.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Tick

In the tyranny of the measuring clock
Death is but a tortoise in this timeless race
With every slow tick and echoing tock
Forever keeping its careless pace

With so much to do I stay awake
With one foot in front of the other
Running with knees and feet that ache
Time feeds worms a salutary supper

In the end we must lie and nap
Embrace eternal slumbers deadlock
We are just hares caught in times trap
In the tyranny of the measuring clock

Tock
Mercy B Apr 2013
There are two sides of me struggling against each other yet they remain joined in an epic campaign.
Both are determind to remove any obstacle which lies in their way

The constant pull from these two conflicting forces is stifling, their goal to maximize my pain.
Together they make me whole, but their differences are as drastic as the night is to the day.

I swear some moments  I can hear the moon lit sky calling out to me.
When the  taste of the wind makes everthing burst into a magnificent spark.

Within a flash I'm drowing a million hands drag me to the bottom of the sea.
In this frenzy I'm left silently screaming ,scared and in the dark.

There are times when the love within me almost consumes me, my entire heart and soul, it has a furious intensity only matched if the sun and moon would collide.
Without warning a nothingness slowly starts to creep thrusting me into a darkness, swallowing my everything , from it I can not hide.
The purity in which I can feel some emotions is nearly impossible to bare.
The force behind them starts to frantically grow until it begins devouring me.

Keep your head held high I whisper, as our eyes  deadlock in a wandering stare.
Reminding myself that they are only able to see the me I choose  them to see.
swift inset of love's Sanskrit,
a thorn of contestations.

make cadence this sensorial music.
centrifugally waiting bodies
to cross Earths.

a plethora of annulments.
lion-telling Sun singes through intersections of infinities:

we cannot wait to quash
the morning, the scent of guava leaves
and the cerement of flour on chicken.
earth-hewn mounds of meat pressed
against beholden kitchen clangor.

declension of memory past wood
and pillars of home. lattices of light
forerunning fingers, let down the curtain.
wind swings with maddened turbine,
afternoons high with deadlock.

of all that is not here, the force
reawakens a long-stumped ******,
beating us back to edges ruthless
with angels entirely curved, singled-out,
wings clipped, dancing at the tip
   of the candleflame.
For Grandma Doring.
Dagoth I Am Nov 2014
I will rise up early
and dress myself up nice
and I will leave the house
and check the deadlock twice.
and I will find a crowd
and blend in for a minute
and I will try to find
a little comfort in it.
and I will get lonely
and gasp for air.
and send your name up from my lips
like a signal flare.

and I will go downtown,
stand in the shadows of the buildings
and button up my coat,
trying to stay strong,
spirit willing.
and I will come back home,
maybe call some friends,
maybe paint some pictures,
it all depends.
and I will get lonely
and gasp for air.
and look up at the high windows,
and see your face up there
We both felt
the crumbling
rabbits heard
the sheep bleat
the rumblings
that had no stomach
for what eagle's eyed
ahead

but neither spoke

we kept standing and looking
for quite a while
as if staring at the tumbled rocks
would cause a path to appear
as if this were Narnia
somewhere
entranced

someone had to break
the deadlock
move the mountain
over the mouse
and move on

I did
deciding the end
going from shared
friends
straying from the flock
through an open wound
and it hurt
back to what was
almost
eyre
then my sole
gently turned over
a new soft leaf
but it bothered me
even now
erin Jan 2014
I thought I saw
something in your eyes
when you looked at me
so undisguised.
I thought I felt
a pierce from your gaze
while our eyes were stuck
in a deadlock game.
I must have misread
what you had in mind;
I felt a pierce, no doubt,
but of a wicked kind.
Rhiannon Apr 2020
In a manner of speaking,
I guess you could say I'm at a loss.
A part of myself not yet met creeping,
the bridges i've burnt trying to get across.

The land we meet on spoilt and barren,
No trees or fertile soil here.
My foe before me stands nonchalant, inhuman,
No sign of a whimper, No seep of a tear.

The very beginning of my journey was broken,
A dishonest and foul way to start.
This stalemate wreaks with truths unspoken,
Like the decaying stench of your closed off heart.
Chris Behrens Feb 2013
The cost of living fast and lean
And getting what you're owed
Is feeling always in between
And strung out on the road

I sink into the motel bed
And stare up at a water-stain
I take a pill and rub my head
And listen to the rain

The blues and reds are easy meds
Embalming for my brain
They drive the creeping minutes out
I count the loss but gain

The easy buzz of Secanol
and bourbon brings me peace
One-hundred-forty minutes flat
A fleeting, sweet release

I run my fingers through my hair
Relaxed, as I come to
I lift the satchel off the chair
I've got a job to do

The headlights through the curtains
Trace a line across the floor
I pull them snugly closed and
Flip the deadlock on the door

Pull the slide and pop the spring
Wipe the action with a rag
Lubricate with kerosene
Reassemble, slap the mag

I shake the cardboard ammo box
The rounds are heavy, cold and clean
I flip them over, one by one
And press into the magazine

The sun is slowly rising though
I cannot see the light
As sure as I'm about to blow
Tonight will be the night.
I guess this is kind of a prequel to Botched.
Steffanie Nov 2015
If I thought that we would crash and burn
faster
than he and I
There is nothing that would stop me from walking away.
Finding myself in you
So that I may go on forever knowing.
Bemusement be ******.
You see,
I owe it to everyone involved
to see this to the very end.
To see this to the wreckage.
through the turmoil
and dismay
until we find ourselves in
deadlock.
Our own
inferno of fulfillment.
Ultimately
I will be with you.
Without being animated by old knots.
Damage undone.
Relentlessly
loving.


Present tense.
To have you,
however I may have you,
I am at ease.
brandon nagley May 2015
Fortify this amazonian square,
Wherein Baldheads are anguished,
No other place can compare!!!

Amorosity, dont leaveth me to far gone,
Showeth me love,
Showeth me loving kindness,
Showeth me thine grain,
Showeth me thy fineness!!!

Fruition cometh suddenly,
Stunningly the air's wind stays chill,
Deadlock exhibitions of fan fare latitude!!!

A blade chapter of northern affair's,
How changeable is her manikin smile!!

Defilement she hath seen,
Derider,
Non abider,
Doesn't fit thy circuit scene!!!

What a dream to all whoso sleep,
Guard thy soul,
Her mind is gold,
Youll whimper as she weeps!!!

Flourisher,

Nourisher of nutriential push,
Snappish,
Pacifist,
Lover of pre schooled books!!!!

Sorceries own  solvent!!!!

Dissolvent of surmise talk!!!

Your a new age Delilah thou fresh smelling pedal thou!!!!
Lunatic Mar 2015
The almighty has given me such sight,
which can see through the dark of night.
Only with His name, I always try to write,
it enables me to dispel every idea of fight.

My horizon lies beyond the ordinary folk,
Those unable to foresee, put me in the dock.
Awake or asleep, I visualise round the clock,
I strive to the present gloomy deadlock.

Some might be thinking, I am like a worm,
For them, to critisize me is the only norm.
Read me at the google to see my real form,
In "voice of heart", you will find my storm.
Mary Pear Dec 2016
A viaduct looms over my daily commute; trains rattle above.
I pass through its belly each day.
A canal ambles beneath one armpit,
Scrubland loiters under the other.

In the belly , glaring headlights inch forward towards their kin;
Metal, rubber and glass jostle for place,
Engines thrumming.
Shiny shoes pinch and stiff collars tighten;
Fingers start drumming.
Deadlock.
Gridlock.

On the indolent canal a barge floats serenely, fat fish meander and
Skinny - legged moor hens tiptoe through the reeds.
An old man in rough tweeds pokes his stick through the scrub land on the other side,
Searching for blackberries.

Lights change futilely; amber, green and red.
Engines rev and teeth grit.
The belly rumbles.

Ducks fly in and land on the still water of the canal.
They swim in formation under the bridge.
On the other side the old man sits to eat his fill
His fingers purple with juice.
Clouds scud, a breeze cools and the sun appears.

Collars stiffen, indicators tick, nails are bitten
As the cars inch forward.
The bloated belly heaves
As a few cars cross the border to meet another impasse.

Concentric circles appear on the surface of the water
And gnats flicker above it.
A family of coots sets out for a morning outing
And a kestrel hovers above.

Deep in the undergrowth field mice
Scurry away from the old man's boots.
Dry sticks snap under his heel
and the sun warms his thinning pate.

He takes the slow path through the undergrowth,
Meets an ancient lane
And strolls the familiar path home.
kiryuen Sep 2015
old themes, the uttering of half-dreams;
to have: lust as the fruit, or love as the bird
been thinking about prayers and how they don’t work
you are my favourite player,
you are my one and only
not really
I would sing you lullabies but you don’t like my voice,
I would bring you flowers but flowers only remind you of funerals.
I keep wanting to reinvent myself
then end up with too many versions
game plan, what’s my game plan
does there have to be a reason for everything?
do I have to explain why I gave my queen up
or why my engine can never start
later, later,
wanted to be some kind of electrifying
no ***** given, that sparks burn out
I’m not in a good place
I hate this place
here they stifle me everyday to save me
like I wasn’t already doomed from the start
got your gun cocked to my head
I’ve got my knife pressed to your throat
deadlock stalemate
wanna bet which one is faster
no regard whatsoever for consequences and responsibility just
living speed and risk and trauma
got me hook line and sinker
got you wrapped around my finger
thank you thank you thank you
of all the pieces on the board you’re my favourite pawn
*not really

— The End —